Citadel
by Cheshire6845
Summary: A Counterpoint A/U. Janeway and Kashyk on the Devore ship.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not sure this is really needed since we all know I don't own these characters.

Notes: This is A/U and will not be for everyone. That being said it was written for someone in particular. Many thanks to Froot for beta-ing this for me. I played with it after though so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

It's the silence that will break her.

Her own indomitable need-to-know coupled with her insatiable mind will be my allies. She is an explorer, after all, and I give her nothing. No stimulus, no information, no access. There is nothing to occupy her mind or halt her rampaging thoughts. She sits in a cell stripped of everything but a toilet, a cot, and a view of me.

Oh yes, I am her only company. But I don't speak to her, I don't acknowledge her. I simply sit in her line of vision and work. Or appear to work. Occasionally, I watch entertainment or read recreationally. I've even attempted a few of the novels from the download of her ship's database that she seems to favor. She has an eclectic taste ranging between tawdry stories of people creating reasons to fornicate, epically long stanzas of lyrical nonsense, and stilted historicals. I find the historicals most to my liking. She tends towards militaristic encounters which I can at least find useful. I look forward to the day when we can discuss such topics although I doubt that day will be any time soon.

Prax idiotically believes she will not be able to hold her tongue for more than a day. He believes her to be rather mouthy for a female. I'm sure the females that usually have the unfortunate experience of his company do stay rather silent, the better to speed his departure away from them. But I know for me, she will hold her silence out of sheer determination. She enjoys conversation with me too much and will not allow herself to stoop to such levels without putting up a fight. She'll resist her own temptations.

The compulsion to speak, however, is an addiction. There's an uncomfortable silence that builds between people that almost demands to be broken, but even more compelling is the desire for information. She craves to know what is happening beyond her very small space.

Is her crew safe? Did I let them go? Did I keep my word? Is Voyager out of Devore space? Where are we? Where are we going? What will happen to her when we get there? What is to become of her?

For some people that last question would be their first, but not Kathryn. She won't get around to worrying about herself for some time yet which is idiotic considering what happens to her is the only thing she'll know for certain. I can tell her anything I want about her precious crew and ship; I am her only source of supply for information. Maybe I let them go; maybe I didn't. Maybe I'll tell her the truth; maybe I won't. She knows this; it's what keeps her silence.

The first two days between us move at a glacial pace. She inspects her cell; I ignore her. She paces; I continue to be absorbed in my reading. She uses the toilet; I wish that I could do the same. She exercises; I watch. The recorders for the prisoner area capture her every move, and I watch on my handheld device as she jumps and bends and thrusts herself about. I occasionally zoom in on her face; her eyes dart towards me often, waiting for me to notice her, to give her some indication of interest. If she could see just how much attention I'm giving her, she'd be much more cautious during her stretches.

Finally, she sleeps. Not just the feigning of sleep which she has tried more than once, but every sensor indicates she has actually succumbed to rest. I press a button on the desk releasing an odorless gas into her cell. She unknowingly sinks into a state of sedation, and I engage the stasis field over her. Without her steady observance, I am finally able to stretch and allow my own discomfort to show. The forced inactivity has tightened muscles in my back and caused my legs to cramp. Standing, I drink in my first real sight of her in two days. Not even in sleep does she appear to be at peace.

I head for my quarters. My body is uncomfortable in more ways than one; I need a shower, real sleep, and to relieve myself. The discomfort is worthwhile.

I have won round one.

* * *

After I remove the stasis, she sleeps naturally for a few hours, but I imagine the scent of coffee is what finally awakens her. She looks around for the source as she sits up. I almost smirk as I watch her on the vid screen, appearing disheveled, and glaring when she spies the cup beside me. Without looking up, I reach over and pick up the steaming mug, bring it to my mouth, and take a sip. She looks away and sees her own breakfast – standard rations and drink. It's better known as grey space sludge and water. Her eyes cut again to me, hoping to catch me lording over her, but all she sees is me engrossed in my reading. The glare gives way to a frown.

She makes use of the facilities, and I imagine the questions building in her mind.

Where is Voyager? How long did she sleep? Is her crew still looking for her? Have I moved at all? Did anything happen to her while she slept? Is her crew being held in some similar cell? Is the food tainted in some way? Will that be the only food she receives? How much time has passed since she stepped foot into the cell? What is it I want? Why am I ignoring her? What is my endgame?

Returning to the cot, she picks at the bland, tasteless rations. They will give her body all the calories and vitamins it requires, but they will provide little else. The coffee's aroma has more taste and stimulus to it than her entire plate of food. After only a few bites, she sets the tray aside; I finish off the last sip of my coffee.

She begins to watch me for longer periods of time. I remain as silent as she, but I do allow her to see more. I frown at the reports as I make notations. I smirk and shake my head as I watch a nightly entertainment segment. I even get to my feet and pace a few steps. Her eyes hungrily follow my every move.

Mentally, I'd estimated that it would take a week before she started speaking. She takes four. I've been in front of her for every single one of her waking hours. She's never been alone, but after the first week of silence, I switch tactics.

I openly watch her. I track her every movement; how often she shifts her weight, how many times she tucks her hair back, how many steps she takes in an hour when she paces. I smirk when despite my undivided attention she gives in to nature and has to use the facilities provided for her. I stare at her mouth when she eats and drinks. She no longer exercises. She'd been irritated by my disinterest, but being the center of my _very_ focused attention is infuriating.

I also provide tantalizing amounts of stimulus. I take my meals in front of her and the aromas are filtered into her space. When I watch entertainment, the volume is loud enough for her to hear but too soft to be discernible. I stand at the door, out of her line of sight, and allow her to hear me receiving dry reports regarding ship efficiency from Prax. I return my attention to her and can see the questions she so very much wants to ask.

She sleeps when she must, and I make liberal use of the stasis field prolonging her hours of inertia to suit my needs. Each time I return rested and well suited to continue our game of wills; she wakes none the wiser and slips deeper into my net. The lack of interaction is grating on her. My silent watchful presence is testing her patience. Some have suggested that if I would leave her in complete isolation she'd be talking to the walls by now, but what interest would that be to me. I want her broken, not crazy.

At the end of the first month, when she's only been conscious for half that time, she speaks. She is lying on her side on the cot, facing the wall. If I hadn't been paying so close attention to her, I might have missed it. But she shifts slightly, turning her head to look over her shoulder at me before turning back to the wall.

"Did you release Voyager?"

I smirk and get to my feet. She turns over to watch me, her eyes showing the fear she has of my answer. I walk to the side of the room, activate the door, and exit into the corridor. The door closes behind me and I leave her utterly alone.

Her second line of defense has fallen. I couldn't be happier.

* * *

"Don't you have better things to do than sit here and babysit me all day?"

The dam has been broken, and I smile at her waspish question. I really _don't_ have anything better to do. We're on our way back to Devore Prime. It will take us six months to retrace our route, the entirety of which occurs within Devore borders and has been rendered safe. My duties are quite null at the moment.

"Who runs your ship while you're down here with me all day?"

"The captain," I answer simply.

It's the first time I've responded directly to one of her questions; today marks the first time she's bothered asking anything that wasn't directly related to Voyager. She's perhaps finally learned her lesson. For the past five days, upon sight of me she would immediately ask me about Voyager. Without answering, I would leave and she would be alone for the rest of the day. It did occur to me that she may enjoy the solitude, but five days of sheer boredom is a long time for a mind like hers. My unexpected response now after a morning of silence stuns her into momentary silence.

"And don't worry about me," I continue, stepping carefully over her lapse. "I've kept up with my duties."

"How?" she recovers. "Aside from the last few days, you spend every waking moment sitting here staring at me."

"Time moves differently for you, Kathryn." I drop the first hint of her new truth. "I may spend every one of _your_ waking moments with you, but I assure you, I do have other duties which occasionally require my attention."

Her arms cross over her chest. "What the hell does that mean?"

I shut off the report I was reading and give her my full attention. "How long do you think you've been aboard my ship?"

Her glare cools considerably. We both know she doesn't have an accurate handle on how much time has passed, but to answer my question she'll have to admit to her weakness. She doesn't want to answer.

I shrug and reactivate the report.

"A few weeks, maybe," she guesses grudgingly.

Remarkably, she's only off by a few days, but I look at her as though she's a cute child one must indulge. "I'm sorry, Kathryn, but no, it's been a bit longer than that."

"How much longer?"

I sit back, allowing her to see my grimace, the distaste of having to deliver bad news. I choose to delay rather than answer directly. "It's not important. If I were you, I wouldn't worry about it."

My tone is both dismissive and condescending. She hates it. "I want to know."

Of course she does. Who wouldn't? I'm sure by her estimation Voyager should have rescued her by now. She's wondering how much longer she has to put up with me. Knowing that the end of a difficult interlude is nearing will always give one hope, and in her case, more determination to outlast it. I plan to crush that hope.

I brush away a non-existent blemish on my dark pants. I want her to force my answer. She doesn't disappoint.

"Kashyk." It's the first time she's used my name since we were together on her ship. "How long?"

She demands facts, and I offer her my most sympathetic expression. "Six months."

She scoffs, indelicately snorting air out of her nose before shaking her head at me. "You're lying."

"I have absolutely no reason to lie to you," I lie.

"No, you probably don't," she admits easily, "but it wouldn't stop you from doing so."

She knows me so well. "Then why ask me anything at all?"

She ignores that. "I have not been here for six months."

I offer nothing in response which forces her to continue.

"I'd know!" she insists.

"Would you?" I counter, getting to my feet and moving closer to the energy field that stands between us. "Would you be able to accurately track the passage of time if you'd been put into stasis each and every time you've slept since you've set foot onto my ship?"

What little color she possesses drains from her face. "What?"

"I've been putting you into stasis for days, sometimes weeks at a time, while I attend to other duties." I spell it out for her.

Her head shakes from side to side so slightly it's likely she is unaware of committing the motion. "I don't understand."

"Which part would you like me to clarify?"

"You're lying," she tries again.

"Am I?"

"I don't believe you."

She's starting to. "That hardly matters."

She paces away from me, shaking her head. "No." She stops at the far side of her cell and eyes me. "I won't believe this."

"I know it's difficult, Kathryn." She flinches at the use of her name. "But consider for a moment that you believe you've been here for almost a month, yes?"

When I wait for her response, she nods.

"And during that so-called month, you've never once tended to your own hygiene, have you? And yet, you're clean; your garments are clean." I gesture to the walls of her cell. "Your living space is clean."

She glances at her fingernails. "What does that have to do-?"

"The stasis field includes sonic cleansing as well as hygiene protocols upon initiation." I eye her clothing. "The longest you've gone without being cleansed is a day and a half, maybe two days."

"That's not proof," she insists rather correctly. "What's the date?"

I tell her the Devore date and can almost feel the burn from her glare. I offer her the report that I was reading, holding it up to the force field. She glances at it; the written Devore language appearing as nothing but a series of scribbles and dots to her. "Until you learn to read Devore, I'm afraid you'll have to take me at my word."

"And what about Voyager?"

I shake my head and sigh. "And you were doing so well." I head for the door. "I guess we'll have to try again in a few days."

She stops me before I reach the door. "Kashyk, wait…"

I am out of her view but the doors haven't been triggered open so she knows I haven't left yet. I pause, giving her the moment she so clearly needs.

"Please," she says, forcing the word out, clearing her throat before adding, "stay."

Another round to me; I'm gentleman enough to not make her wait.

* * *

"I don't want to be put into stasis anymore."

It's not a surprising request, and honestly, now that she's conceded to the defeat of accepting my company, it's not a request I mind granting. Appearances, however, must be kept. "No, it's not a good idea."

"It was never part of our agreement."

I resist the urge to scoff at her naiveté. The only part of the so-called-agreement that we ever discussed was that in exchange for me releasing her ship she would come quietly. And that "discussion" took place when I already had her entire crew and ship in custody. It was more of a plea from her than an agreement. Allowing her to believe she had some influence over her fate may have been a mistake on my part.

"It was never _not_ part of our agreement," I counter. "The conditions upon which you placed yourself in my custody were never discussed. Be thankful that stasis is the worst addendum to our deal that you've had to accept."

She has to concede that even if she doesn't want to admit it. Her life could be so much worse.

"But it isn't the worst part I've had to accept, is it?" she says quietly.

She holds my gaze. The forbidden subject of her ship is not mentioned specifically but it lies between us all the same. She silently beseeches me to tell her of Voyager's condition; the sapphire gaze never as crystallized as it is when she thinks of her former crew.

"It's the not-knowing that's difficult to accept, isn't it?" I ask conversationally. She sits up straighter, bracing herself for what she hopes I'm about to impart. "Very well, I will consider your request regarding the use of the stasis field."

Her face flushes and the sapphire quickly hardens into frozen grey ice. One hand clenches into a tight fist at her side and the muscle along the underside of her jaw flexes. I allow her time to throw invectives at me, but, for the moment, none seem to be forthcoming. Despite her isolation, her self-control appears to be intact.

"Speaking of our little arrangement," I press, surprising her. "There are some details we need to discuss."

"What sort of details?" she asks tightly, the hard bite in her voice voiding the calm she strains to project.

"Well, for one, we need to record your statement of submission."

She blinks. "My _what_?"

"Statement of submission," I repeat. "It's a verbal acknowledgment that you have put yourself under my control. It's just a matter of paperwork, really." I wave it off as inconsequential. "It saves the government from having to process and condemn you, insures that you are listed appropriately under my household properties for tax purposes, that sort of thing."

The color is high in her cheeks and her lips have thinned to almost nothing. "No."

For her benefit, I release a long suffering sigh. "Kathryn-"

"No." Her hand cuts through the air like a knife. "You are out of your xenophobic mind if you think that I would ever record a statement suggesting that I'm some sort of… _concubine_."

By the old gods, I do enjoy her spirit. "You will," I reply evenly, "or you'll regret it."

The blue is as cold and hard as I've ever seen it. "Are you threatening me, Inspector?"

"I'm stating a fact."

"I hardly think-"

"A year from now," I talk over her, "you will be lying on your back beneath some rutting Devore politician, and you will think back on this conversation." I pause briefly, insuring that I have her attention. "He will likely be the sixth or seventh member of the government that you will have been passed around to as entertainment. When they have grown tired of using you as a plaything, they will finally issue their judgment. You will then be sent to a processing center where you will once again be passed around amongst whoever is considered to be of high enough rank and of questionable enough taste to deserve a treat. After a month or so when all of their cocks have run dry and all of their floors have been cleaned with your tongue, they will condemn you to a work detail." The coarse description of how she will spend her time falls freely from my tongue. "Depending on how well you've been rated, you may get assigned to a brothel. More likely, you'll get thrown down the shaft of a mine. The life expectancy of either option is four to seven months. You'll hope it's the former and not the latter."

She's quiet for a few minutes, gauging my truthfulness, waiting to see if I have anything else to add. "Or, I can live out my life with you?"

"Yes, if you choose to stay with me, you'll reside within my quarters. You'll be clean and eat hot food, sleep in a warm bed. You'll have access to entertainment; you'll be allowed to pursue your hobbies. You'll be amongst the stars, Kathryn."

"And will that warm bed include your company?"

"It's my bed or more than a dozen others." She hasn't bothered hiding her disgust so I don't either. "If you are sent to the mines, you will die a filthy, broken plaything at the bottom of a shaft. You'll be mourned by no one and likely incinerated with the rest of the trash before your designation has even been recorded as missing."

"You paint a grim picture," she says far too lightly.

"The truth is grim."

The corner of her mouth quirks upwards for a moment before flattening again. "Surely Inspector, some people must survive in the mines. How else would you get any production done?"

"There are some who survive," I admit. "There are some who have been down there for so long that they've forgotten what sunlight feels like. Although I don't know that I'd call them people anymore. After all, they no longer survive simply on the provided rations. They aren't exactly living off carrion as they prefer their meat to have a bit of life left in it."

"Cannibals?" she asks skeptically.

"Yes," I confirm. "Scavengers that follow the rape gangs and pick up the scraps that are left behind; the ones that are weakened and destroyed but not quite dead yet make the most tender morsels."

"You'd truly say anything, wouldn't you?" She shakes her head. "No, I don't think I'll believe you. The stories are becoming a little too dire, even for you."

I gather my things before she truly tests my patience. "The choice is yours, Kathryn. I hope your convictions bring you comfort when you feel their teeth shred the meat from your bones."

* * *

I stay away from her for a week. As requested, I don't engage the stasis field. I want her to feel every second of every minute that passes by. The lights never dim and the silence is never broken, but I haven't left her with nothing.

On the bulkhead next to her bed, I activate a video screen and transmit the live continuous security feeds from Mine 947, a spice mine located on the southern hemisphere of Devore III. There are long hours of monotonous drudgery as the condemned live out the remainder of their lives in dirt and grime. But on three separate occasions, there are attacks. During the third incident, the security guard manning the surveillance system zooms in on the melee.

The assaults are not interrupted nor are they over quickly. Crowds gather on safer, higher levels to watch as a group prevails and enforces its will onto others. The attack takes hours, but eventually the crowd begins to disperse. The reigning group carries away some victims, taking them back to their dens with them. As they leave, another group emerges from the shadows, less of a group and more individuals scrapping against each other as they pick over who or whatever has been left behind.

Kathryn turns away as the scavengers slip back into the shadows, dragging their prizes with them. She sits for a moment, staring into nothing before looking up to the right corner of her cell. She's looking right at me, directly into the recorder that is completely concealed from her vision. She holds my invisible gaze for several long minutes. I discontinue the feed from the mine, shutting it off in her cell. Slowly, she inclines her head before turning away.

She believes me.

* * *

I continue to use the stasis field on her whenever it suits my needs. She notices, of course, now that she's no longer ignorant of the hygiene application, but she refrains from asking about it. When possible, I've arranged for her to use refreshers located in empty quarters. She's transported directly in and out without seeing anything other than the room itself and her cell. Tonight, however, I have something different planned for her.

I'm sure she notices as soon as she materializes that she is somewhere new. The shower is larger than the cubicles she's been using; there are towels and personal items present. And, perhaps most surprising, the door stands open.

I sacrifice seeing her initial reaction as I wait in the shadows of my room for the moment I do want to witness. Sitting off to the side, I wait for her to emerge. The light spilling from the refresher backlights her features as she steps through the doorway. It's a harsh contrast of light but in my more fanciful moments, it makes her appear soft. I drink in the sight of her, standing for the first time in my personal quarters; she stares at the bed.

It's large; ridiculously so, but it serves its purpose of capturing her attention so completely that for the moment I go unnoticed. The lighting in the bedroom is low, making it even more difficult to truly distinguish where the bed, swathed in black linen, truly ends.

Her hand briefly flutters at her side but stills quickly before she speaks. "What is this?"

Her voice isn't as cold as I would have expected; the anger that usually tinges her tone isn't present. She sounds more tired than anything. I'm not entirely convinced she's even speaking to me as the question is all but whispered towards the bed itself. I remain still.

But she's known all along that I'm here, and she looks directly at me. "Why did you bring me here, Inspector?"

Her backlit face is somewhat obscured in shadow and I call for half-lights. She blinks against the increased illumination, but keeps her eyes fixed on me.

"I thought you might enjoy dinner in my quarters," I tell her, "and a chance to get cleaned up a bit."

"And this?" she gestures at the bed.

"It's my bed, a piece of furniture that I believe you are familiar with."

No reaction. "Do you expect me to join you in it?"

I consider lying. "Not tonight."

"Never," she states coldly. "I will nev-"

"Never is a long time, Kathryn."

"Not long enough for me to change my mind," she snaps then mutters, "Not about this."

But about other things perhaps.

I get to my feet and move closer to her; she considers moving away. I see the hesitation and stiffening of her posture. It's the closest we've been without a force field between us since her ship. I look down at her, waiting for her to look up, but she doesn't.

She speaks to my chest. "Send me back to my cell."

"No." Our chests are almost touching. If she breathes any deeper, they will be.

Her eyes close briefly and her voice is a strained whisper. "Please, Kashyk, don't make me do this."

I stroke one glove covered finger along her jaw and guide her chin upwards, forcing her to look at me. "Make you do what, Kathryn? Take a shower? Eat a decent meal?" I grip her chin lightly. "That's all I've offered."

She doesn't lower her eyes from mine. "You want more than that."

"As do you," I reply before moving away from her and taking a seat on the edge of the bed, "but not necessarily tonight."

"Not ever, Kashyk. Not willingly. Not on my part."

"In that case, I see no reason to wait. Shall I force myself on you now or shall we postpone our interlude until after dinner?" Her obstinacy has my blood rushing. The thought of throwing her onto the bed and ravaging her is stymied only by my desire to have her as an active participant when the deed occurs. "Personally," I manage to grit out, "I'd rather have something to eat first."

"I'll resist you," she insists. "I don't care what our agreement is, or how you think I should behave. I will fight you with every bone in my body until the last breath leaves my chest."

I'm upon her in a second, pushing her back until she hits the bulkhead. I trap her hands with one of mine, pinning them above her head. Her knee comes up and I easily sidestep it, trapping her thighs with one of my own. My free hand closes around her neck, the dark black of my glove covering the entire expanse of her pale throat.

"Do you want that last breath to be now, Kathryn?" She jerks against me; I press harder, my chest flush against hers, my entire body trapping hers. "Or do you want to live a while longer?"

All the muscles in her throat are flexing beneath my hand as her face reddens under my increasing pressure. She thrashes beneath me, scratching her face against my rank insignia.

I lean in to her, nuzzling her hair; she stiffens. "If you force me to kill you now," I whisper into her ear, my teeth grazing her lobe, "you'll never have a chance to escape." We both know it's what she wants, that single moment of inattention to take advantage of. It's the fantasy that lingers in her fading dreams. I breathe in her scent and exhale warm breath across the fine hairs of her skin. "Give me an answer, Kathryn. Do you want to live?"

We hold our pose of death for a moment longer before I feel all of her muscles relax beneath me. I pull back to find her looking directly at me. Moisture leaks from the corner of her eyes, running down her cheeks and onto my glove. She gives the slightest of nods, all that she is capable of, and I release the grip I have on her throat.

She coughs and draws in a deep shuddering breath. I lower her arms to a more comfortable position, but I don't move away from her. Her chest brushes against mine as she catches her breath; my body remains flush against hers.

"I don't want to have this conversation again," I inform her quietly. "We both know you want to live, and we both intend to see that you do."

She's looking into the refresher, away from me. "I meant what I said; I'll resist you."

"I know." She wouldn't be her if she didn't. I move away from her, pull down on my tunic to straighten it. "Now, enjoy your shower, and when you're finished, we'll have a decent dinner."

The look she gives me is unreadable, equal parts fury and remorse, loathing and gratitude. I find I understand her immensely.

* * *

...


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Several people have asked me why the reviews aren't visible and I have no idea. If there's some setting that I need to tweak, someone please let me know. Thank you for continuing to read!

* * *

I set the glass of light blue wine down in front of her. "We need to talk."

"Isn't that what we've been doing?" she asks, ignoring the offering of wine although I know it's the vintage she favors.

It's a weak evasion on her part, but we must work with what we have. It's been a month since I pinned her against the bulkhead. We've had ten dinners together in my quarters during that time; all of which have passed with pleasant if not banal conversation. _Polite_ is the word I think she'd use if she were being honest. _Necessary_ is how I think of our time spent together, easing her into her situation. Sudden moves and forceful instruction don't work well with Kathryn.

I fill a glass of wine, choosing the darker, thicker vintage for myself. "We need to discuss your future."

She reaches for her wine; alcohol is a social lubricant in all cultures. I settle on the couch, moving the conversation away from the dining table. After another sip of wine, she joins me. She doesn't sit next to me, either of us would have to lunge for the other in order to touch, but she socially acquiesces with more ease than other adjustments she's had to make. A grace I attribute to her political training.

"My future," she repeats softly, looking out the viewports at the stars streaking by. The first evening we had dinner together, she stood and watched them for over an hour.

I know she'll get lost in them again tonight if I don't direct the conversation. "We need to have matters settled before we reach Devore Prime. We need to record and submit your statement…"

Her chin drops to her chest, her eyes closed tight. "I can't."

The last of my wine disappears in a single swallow. "We've gone over this, Kathryn." I know to expect more resistance from her, especially in the moment of having to actually speak the words and I've made preparations to ease that for her, but I've given her time to adjust to the idea of it. "You know the alternative."

She nods. "I do. But I can't just…" Her head shakes from side to side even as she looks at me. "I can't do it. Not without… I'm sorry."

Her inability to utter a complete thought sets my teeth on edge. I get to my feet, motioning for her to remain sitting as I retrieve the wine bottles. They clink against the surface of the low table when I set them down. "I'm certain I already know the answer to this," I tell her as I open the darker vintage, "but just so we're clear, why don't you tell me what's holding you back?"

She cradles the glass in her hand, swirling the last of the liquid that matches her eyes. "It's nothing I can talk about."

Her expression started with a hint of amusement but hardens as she utters the accepted truth of her current existence. I offer to refill her glass as well but she waves me off. I lean back, drink in hand. "Are you really going to allow your past to dictate a future of pain and suffering?"

Her eyes cut to mine. "Did you really think a few nice dinners would change me so completely that I'd forget my responsibilities?"

Touché. But, "You have no responsibilities."

She scoffs and knocks back the last of her wine. "Being a prisoner does not change the fact that I am a Starfleet officer. I'm a captain; I have responsibilities to those-"

"Responsibilities to whom? You have no ship, no crew; you are no longer the captain of anything, _Kathryn_. You are alone. One single female on a ship in an area of space where your precious Starfleet does not exist." It's not our way to be so blunt, but the time for vague notions has long passed. "It's been almost a year, Kathryn. No one has come for you. You aren't going to be rescued and returned to a life where your codes of conduct and rules of exploration matter. That world is gone. You're never going to see it again; you're never going to face judgment for actions they may not approve."

"I still have to live with myself, Kashyk," she says bitterly, setting her glass down on the table.

"Which is exactly what I'm asking you to do, Kathryn." I open the bottle of her wine and haphazardly refill her glass. "I want you to live."

She shakes her head. "No, you're telling me to throw away everything I've ever believed in so you can have me as a pet."

"Hardly."

"I'd rather die."

She says it, but I don't believe her. We've already had that encounter and I know she has no intention of dying easily. So, what is it- "You're scared."

"What."

It's not an emotion I thought I'd ever see from her, not in regards to herself, anyway. "I'm offering you a new life, a life without all those self-imposed constraints and responsibilities, a life at my side, and that thought terrifies you. The idea that no one would reprimand you for following your own desires is something you can't handle."

"You're out of your mind."

She gets to her feet, intending to leave the conversation, but I have no intention of allowing her to slip through my fingers so easily. I catch her by the upper arm and spin her around to face me. The quick intake of breath, the small gasp of surprise as her eyes meet mine tells me I'm right.

The moment draws out, and I don't allow her to look away. The fight between us for all these months has been hard; she's tired. Weakened.

But not beaten. Not yet.

The icy fire burns in her gaze as she is forced to look up at me. "Let me go."

I smirk. "Never."

"And if I choose the mines?"

"Then I'll record you as dead and keep you anyway."

She jerks free from my grasp, backing away from me. "No."

I reclaim the space she's created, pressing her as she retreats. "The mines were only ever a threat meant to make your decision easier."

The back of her thigh hits the desk and unless she plans to cast off all decorum and crawl backwards over it, she's trapped between it and me. "But that footage you showed me-"

"Everything I told you about the mines is true; I just won't be sending you there." I crowd her space further, pleased when her posture strengthens and she remembers herself. "And everything I told you about your past is true. That life is over, Kathryn. You need to look to your future. Make choices for yourself."

"It's not over," she insists. "It'll never be over until you tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"That Voyager is safe," she says immediately, has likely been waiting ages for the perfect opportunity to make her demands. "Tell me you released them. Tell me my crew isn't slaving away in some mine somewhere simply because they were different from you. Tell me you kept your word."

I consider whether to lie or tell her the truth. In the end, I tell her what she wants to hear.

* * *

 _"I, Kathryn Janeway, a citizen of the United Federation of Planets, resign myself to the control of Inspector Kashyk of the Devore Imperium. I place myself in a position to serve under his command."_

It's only two sentences and she took liberties with the precise wording of the official statement, but it's enough. One must choose their battles and fighting her on the substitution of a few words isn't worth the effort it would take. In the official records, she is now mine. She made it through the statement with detached decorum, but afterwards she requested I leave her alone.

She spent a week by herself, coming to terms with her new life. Somewhat anyway. She stays in my quarters now, but we still don't share a bed. She sleeps on the couch or on the floor against the wall furthest from my bedroom. She seems to think this is how it will always be. I'm content to allow it for now. We're almost to Devore Prime where we will disembark for a month or so of shore leave. Upon return to the ship, our sleeping arrangements will no doubt be a topic of hot debate.

It's taken almost a month for her to begin living in my quarters on a constant basis. She left her cell for the last time only a week ago. I admit, if only to myself, that I find it pleasant to return to my quarters and have her company. Usually, she's cordial, looking up from whatever book she's learning to read long enough to greet me. Some nights that's the only interaction we have, but other occasions have found us lighting on a discussion that carries us through the evening pleasurably.

She's already asleep on the couch when I finally come in this evening. Captain Strim had apparently been saving up reports to go over with me for the past three months. Kathryn wakes when I enter, raising half-way up to an elbow. I acknowledge the greeting, but head straight for the refresher. It's been a long, tedious day.

I have only just stepped out of the refresher when I notice the active security light, indicating the doors to my quarters have been triggered. I installed extra security measures as Kathryn began spending more time here; it is never wise to lower one's guard around her too much. But as I stare at the silent alarm, my thoughts move away from an attempted escape on her part.

I slip the pants back on that I've worn all day and retrieve the hand-held phaser I've kept concealed behind a panel in the hygiene chamber. I call for the door to the refresher to open; it does and the obvious increase in lighting from the living quarters floods the bedroom. No one is there and I understand they intend to draw me out; it will be their mistake.

"Kathryn," I call out, "you may attend me now."

If she was truly relegated to the role of servant that she believes she has been, attending to my needs after I shower would be part of her duties. It would also be what other Devore would expect. In truth, I'd only command her that way if I was itching for a fight.

The hesitation is answer enough but finally she replies, "We have company, Inspector."

Her words are stilted, and within my quarters, she rarely calls me by my title. "I didn't know we were expecting anyone."

I piece together the three components I've stored around the refresher to activate the recorders I've placed in my quarters. The image isn't the best quality, but Prax and two of his cronies are easy to identify. They stand facing my bedroom, waiting for me to emerge. One of the cronies holds Kathryn in front of him, his overly-large hands clamped on her shoulders.

The phaser tucks neatly against my back under my waistband. I sit down to pull my boots back on, checking the blade hilted along the inside seam. "Kathryn, be a dear and serve them some of that dessert you cooked up last night while I get dressed."

I'm sure her instincts have already told her this is a bad situation, but while on Voyager I learned that Kathryn does not cook. The furry Talaxian had imparted that little secret to me, and even her dour, dunderhead first officer had shown amusement when I'd mentioned that she had invited me to her quarters for dinner one evening. She'd admitted to me that night that the food had all been replicated and that she only served her cooking to her enemies.

I slip my undershirt over my head and check my weapons one more time. I have more in the bedroom, but they'd be able to see me accessing them. For now, surprise should still be on my side. I emerge.

"Prax!" The old fool starts slightly at the familiar snap of command. Even in mutiny, his instincts are to obey. "What do you want?"

He begins rattling off some codicil or regulation about fraternization with _gaharay_ that I couldn't care less about. The minute he stepped into my quarters his life was forfeit; I don't care about his reasons. I take the time to inspect Kathryn's appearance. Her hair is a bit disheveled and I think she has a bruise forming along her left cheekbone. For that, his cronies will die as well.

"Prax!" I snap, cutting him off mid-codicil. "The council has already approved her as my property. Everything is in order."

He hadn't known that little piece of information, but it isn't enough to put him off. "You have neglected your post, sir. For _her_. Inattention to duty demands removal from position," Prax insists.

"And you've come up with this all by yourself, Prax? Or did you have help?" It's really the only question I have. Captain Strim kept me busy all day. Was that coincidence or will I have to kill him as well?

"The captain and I are in agreement, sir. It takes two commanding officers-"

"Thank you, Prax; that was all I needed to know." I don't take my eyes off him as I say, "Kathryn, feel free to defend yourself."

Prax is old and slower on the uptake than he'd ever care to admit; I'm sure in his mind I would simply obey the regulations. Kathryn and I move in concert to dispatch his cronies before he even unholsters his weapon.

I have the phaser in hand with a jet of energy streaking towards Prax's man on the left as Kathryn delivers a devastating strike to her man's groin followed by an elbow to his face. By Prax's rules of fair play and order, we are way out of line. Kathryn brings a double fist down on the back of her man's neck, dropping him to the deck. He buries his shoulder against her side as he falls, taking her with him.

I don't see what happens next as I bring my attention and my weapon to bear on Prax. He finally has his weapon loosed, something he should have done the moment he entered my private quarters, but he does not yet have it raised. "Inspector!" he spits indignantly.

"Shut up, Prax!" I fire on him, sending him sprawling backwards with a hole burned in his chest.

Kathryn grunts in pain as she wriggles free from underneath her assailant; she kicks out, smashing the heel of her foot against his already bleeding nose as soon as she has space. He tries to reestablish his grasp on her, and I see the knife in his hand. I fire again, killing him instantly.

"Are you all right?" Blue blood is smeared all across her clothes from their struggle, but there is also a stain of red at her temple.

"Fine," she grunts, tugging her second foot free from underneath his weight. She grimaces and inspects her calf; a red cut spans half the length. "What the hell was that about?"

"You." The cut isn't deep; she's lucky. "We're almost to the homeworld. If they relieve me of my rank and position for any reason before we arrive, any honorary commissions they promote themselves to will likely be conferred upon review."

She uses the heel of her palm to apply pressure to the wound at her temple. "That's insane; they mutiny and the reward is promotion?"

"If they're capable of wresting control of the ship and their reasoning is found to have merit, then yes." I help her to her feet as I get to my own. "I, however, have no intention of allowing them to succeed. I need to act quickly before the captain realizes he's failed."

"Go then." She sinks down onto the chair, gingerly propping her foot on the low table.

I want to stay and attend to her injuries, but if I lose my position it will help neither of us. I move towards the bedroom, donning my uniform and reinforcing my weapons. I send a message out, activating two squads of soldiers I know to be loyal. "Will you be all right?"

"I've been hit harder than this, I assure you." She winces as she probes the cut on her leg. "I'm fine."

"There's a medical kit in the refresher." The door chimes, signaling the first squad has arrived. I glance around the room at the bodies and weapons scattered everywhere. If ever there was a time for her to take advantage of an opportunity, it would be now. "I won't be gone long."

Her wry smile is the last thing I see before I leave. I imagine she'll be gone long before I return.

* * *

It's the poison on the blade that almost kills her.

In putting down the insignificant insurrection, it took me three hours before I was able to return to my quarters. The doctors have assured me she would have been dead in four. I knew as soon as I walked in there was a problem. She was still sitting in the same chair as when I left her. When she didn't respond to my attempts to wake her, I checked her wounds. Black lines of poison spread outwards from her calf and up her thigh. Veins on her arms and neck were beginning to show similar signs. I carried her to the medical bay.

I've been carrying her since. The salty breeze rolling in off the Black Sea sweeps through the house. We've been at my villa on the beach for nearly a week. The nurses that stop by throughout the day assure me that Kathryn will regain consciousness at any time. They are fascinated by her smooth skin and auburn colored hair. If we were to stay here, she'd likely have no shortage of visitors.

The nights have been the most interesting. Due to the chill of the night air and the lack of other sleeping arrangements in the cabin, I've been sharing the bed with her. I have to admit that it had been my plan to surprise her with this sleeping arrangement when I'd brought her here during my shore leave; she'd have hated it, but there would've been little option. As it is, she unconsciously seeks me out at night, moving closer to me for warmth. She mutters more in the hours of dark; she says my name.

She mumbles his as well, that loyal dog of a first officer. Most of what she says is incoherent ramblings, but there are phrases she repeats. She pushes me away and apologizes to him. She begs me to stay and tells him to run. Tears streak down her cheeks. When I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me, she quiets down. As much as I want her to be healthy, I regret that the display of vulnerability I have witnessed will never be shown to me again.

On the tenth day, I find her awake when I reenter the room after lunch. She's staring blankly around the room until she sees me, standing in the doorway. Her eyebrows pull together in a way the Devore face cannot. "Kash-"

She coughs and I offer her the water kept on the bedside table. She tries to sit up and fails, appearing utterly exhausted at the small movement. I support her as she sips the water before sinking back onto the pillows. She's still frowning at me. "What…happened?"

The rough hues of her voice are even more pronounced with disuse, and her eyes are dark with faded blue surrounding widened pupils. "What do you remember?"

Her eyes close as she tries to remember and I wonder if she hasn't fallen back asleep when she says, "Prax." She swallows a few times. "He was in your quarters?"

I nod. "He was."

She frowns again. "Did we fight him?"

"And his two idiotic followers," I remind her. "We won, but you were injured."

"How?"

I can hear the sleep thick in her voice and know this conversation won't last much longer. "A poisoned blade cut your leg, but you'll be fine."

She nods, sort of, as she slips back into sleep. The evening nurse stops by and gives her approval; she leaves a new medicine for Kathryn to start taking in the morning. Kathryn doesn't stir while the nurse checks on her or even when I slip into bed with her. It's a few hours after I fall asleep that she wakes.

I'm not sure exactly what wakes me, but I know I wasn't sleeping very deeply, expecting this encounter. The body next to mine, intertwined with mine, stiffens and I hear the harsh gasp of her shocked inhale. If she had any strength at all, I'd be more concerned. If she had a weapon of any kind, I would have never fallen asleep.

"Kashyk!" she hisses my name and tries to push away from me, manages to move her leg off of mine, but her arms are ineffectual.

I keep her trapped against my chest with one arm, knowing how quickly she'll tire. "Easy, Kathryn, you'll hurt yourself."

Her fingernails dig into my bare chest. "Let go of me."

I flatten her hand with one of my own before she can draw blood. "You're going to tire yourself out."

"No." She continues to push against me, trying to tug herself free. There's nowhere for her to go and my words prove true as her struggles diminish.

"Ssshhh, you're safe," I tell her, earning myself one last feeble punch before she collapses against me, her energy spent. A single hot tear lands on my chest as she sinks back into sleep.

It's a process we repeat the next two nights with her struggles gaining strength as she returns to health. On the fourth night, we both stay awake. She's rigid beside me, her side barely touching me; she's afraid to sleep. She knows it's she that approaches me during the night, burrowing against my side for warmth. She shivers and I can feel it through the mattress beneath us. I stack my hands underneath my head and resign myself to a long night.

Finally, when there is only an hour or two before dawn, she whispers, "You should have let the poison kill me."

She turns towards me, tucks up against my side, and is asleep within minutes.

The last wall has fallen. All that remains is the ivory tower.

* * *

On the rare occasion that someone has the audacity to ask me about her, I have a reply ready. She may be _gaharay_ , but she isn't a telepath. I also make a mental note of the imbecile rude enough to broach the subject. All are dealt with appropriately in time.

To a degree, I understand their curiosity. Kathryn is unique. It's not uncommon for inspectors or captains to take captives into their personal custody as servants or entertainment, especially not while on active duty aboard spaceships. It is, however, unusual for someone to keep the same _gaharay_ around for so many years.

As my ship leaves Devore Prime with her aboard and in our quarters, we are beginning our fifth year together. We've rarely spent a night apart since that evening in my villa except for when duty calls. She's no longer the oddity on ship for my crew to stare at; she has a regular cadre that are her escort aboard ship, and while they haven't lost sight of her alien qualities they do tend to any new recruits that would try to cause trouble for her.

Kathryn has made a good life for herself. She taught herself the Devore language using her own books scanned into our language, and she's recently started publishing scientific papers under the more Devore-sounding name of Fenix. Her discoveries are never allowed to deviate the ship from its mission, but there is often plenty enough time for her to gather information as we patrol a sector. Our continuous scans and multiple passes of areas ensure she has all the data she could want.

She's the only scientist working from within the Devore military, making her observations unique to the rest of Devore's scientific community. I imagine they wonder why this up-and-coming scientist within their ranks never accepts the invitations to speak or attend conferences. They, of course, have no idea just how unique she is.

As for my relationship with Kathryn, I have no complaints. The time and energy I invested in her have been well worth the effort. We are as well suited to each other's needs and desires as I imagined during that very first inspection on board her ship. That's not to say she didn't still require a bit of coercion, at first.

The first time was not without resistance. She fought my advances as she had always promised she would, but she never tried to truly injure me. I toyed with her, worked her up, and lavished her with attention. As her last defense fell, I told her that all she had to do was ask me to stop.

She never once has.

Tonight is no different. It's the first evening in several that I haven't been required to stay beyond my regular duty hours. We've been in the same area of space for a few days now, but we've finished our operation and are ready to move on. Kathryn has learned not to ask questions to which she doesn't want to hear the answers. The nights I work late, the days spent near a planet or a ship, the offenders we are dealing with are not her responsibility.

The only acknowledgment she gives of the ship's recent activities is at dinner when she mentions it's nice to be underway again. I agree. I point out that it's nice to be finished with duty and still have energy to spare; she grins at me over her glass of wine and agrees.

Between her pent up energy and my increased stress levels from the past few days, our release is quite enthusiastic. She leaves marks on my back, and in the morning I'm sure the pale skin of her hips will show how tightly I clung to her. The feel of her heart pounding in her chest as she collapses against me is my reward; as it slows to a more regular rhythm, it lulls me to sleep.

An unconscious instinct wakes me in the middle of the night, and I sweep out my arm to find her side of the bed is both empty and cold. "Kathryn?"

"I'm here," she answers from the shadows beyond the foot of the bed.

I push up to my elbows, squinting at her silhouette, sitting on the lounger. "What are you doing over there?" She doesn't answer me. I sit up. "Lights, twenty-five percent."

The dull illumination brings an unexpected sight, and yet it is one I've been waiting on for years. Kathryn, looking as calm and cool as she ever does, dressed in the blue satin nightgown I gave her for her birthday, is aiming a phaser at my chest.

"You lied to me."

I scrub a hand over my face, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. "I've lied to you about a great many things. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

She doesn't appreciate my candor, but she doesn't comment on it either. "I admit," she starts. "It took me longer than I thought. Being able to read Devore wasn't enough, I needed to be able to translate it, to understand it. Then I had to figure out the mathematics, but even that wasn't enough. I needed a fixed date, a date that is the same in both our worlds; if I just had that, then I could finally make it all work." Her free hand lifts the shoulder strap of her nightgown. "You gave me more than one present on my birthday. Thank you."

"Glad I could oblige." The phaser doesn't scare me; I can tell even from a distance that it's mine which means it's biologically tuned to me. She can't fire it even if she means to, which I believe she might, but I'd like to know why. I throw off the covers and swing my feet off the side of the bed.

"Stay right there."

"Now, Kathryn-"

A low level beam of energy grazes my arm and destroys the bedside vase, scorching the bulkhead behind it. Shock more than pain has me gripping the burn across my upper arm. "How in the-"

"We both know I'm a better shot than that. Don't make me do worse."

"Are you insane!" I sputter, getting to my feet regardless. "Do you have any idea how many alarms you just triggered by firing that thing in here?"

"Sit down. _Inspector_."

Someone should have been calling to check by now. Someone should have been hailing me immediately. A team of guards should be pounding on the door, but there's only silence.

Kathryn watches me, raising one eyebrow as she gestures with the phaser for me to have a seat. "I took a few precautions, Inspector. You understand."

Better than anyone. I sink back onto the bed.

"As I was saying," she continues, settling a little now that I've complied with her wishes, "it took me longer than I thought to get to this point. Years longer actually, although not as many as you would have me believe." She sits back, her aim never wavering from my chest. "How many years has it been, Inspector? Five? Or six?"

Clearly, she's been a busy girl. She's rerouted a ship's alarm system, reengineered a phaser to her own signature, and hacked into personal files. She's worked patiently and methodically to get to this moment. I expected nothing less from her.

"So, you've caught me." I sit back against the head of the bed, making myself comfortable. "Five years or six years, does it really matter?"

She surprises me when she shakes her head. "No, not really. Not anymore. But that first year-" Her voice cracks ever so slightly. "It mattered a lot then, didn't it?"

Yes, it did. In the face of indefatigable hope, there is quite a bit of difference between a few months and a year. "Is that it then? You're going to kill me over a lie about the date?"

"No," she says quite calmly. "No, it won't be because of that."

Ah. Then it'll be because of the thousands of other cuts I've inflicted on her. Personally, I have no wish to go slowly. "Is it because of Voyager then?"

She flinches.

"Because I kept my word."

"Yes, you kept your word," she admits, hate dripping from every word she bites out.

Her hand is shaking enough that I can see the movement of the phaser. "Whatever else that may have happened to them was not my fault."

"No, it was mine; I left their lives in your hands. I left them at a disadvantage just like I've been at a disadvantage for every minute of every day since I set foot on your ship. You've been the one in control." She flashes the phaser at me, her hand once again steady. "But now, I have the power; I hold your life in my hands. I'm in control."

"I don't think anyone could doubt that."

"Now, we're equals."

I've never wanted her more.

She slides her thumb over the weapon's activation switch and returns the phaser to neutral before tossing it to me. I instinctively catch it and watch carefully as she moves across the bedroom back to her side of the bed. Without another word, she slips under the covers and turns on her side to watch me.

Admittedly, it takes a few minutes for everything to register. It was an impressive performance, and I set the disabled phaser on the night stand and call for the lights to dim. I slide down on the bed until I'm lying beside her; she moves my arm and slips under it.

"No hard feelings?" she asks quietly.

I consider the question and answer truthfully. "No hard feelings."

There are no more walls between us.

The End

* * *

.

.

.

Inspiration came from an exchange of dialogue in the movie The Philadelphia Story. Hepburn and Grant at their best.

 **Dexter** : I suppose you'd still be attractive to any man of spirit, though. There's something engaging about it, this goddess business. There's something more challenging to the male than the, uh, more obvious charms.

 **Tracy** : Really?

 **Dexter** : Really. We're very vain, you know - 'This citadel can and shall be taken, and I'm the boy to do it.'


End file.
